The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal

Have you not a word for Jesus? not a word to say for Him?
He is listening through the chorus of the burning seraphim!
He is listening; does He hear you speaking of the things of earth,
Only of its passing pleasure, selfish sorrow, empty mirth?
He has spoken words of blessing, pardon, peace, and love to you,
Glorious hopes and gracious comfort, strong and tender, sweet and true;
Does He hear you telling others something of His love untold,
Overflowings of thanksgiving for His mercies manifold?

Have you not a word for Jesus? Will the world His praise proclaim?
Who shall speak if ye are silent? ye who know and love His name.
You, whom He hath called and chosen His own witnesses to be,
Will you tell your gracious Master, ‘Lord, we cannot speak for Thee’?

‘Cannot!’ though He suffered for you, died because He loved you so!
‘Cannot!’ though He has forgiven, making scarlet white as snow!
‘Cannot!’ though His grace abounding is your freely promised aid!
‘Cannot!’ though He stands beside you, though He says, ‘Be not afraid!’

Have you not a word for Jesus? Some, perchance, while ye are dumb,
Wait and weary for your message, hoping you will bid them ‘come’;
Never telling hidden sorrows, lingering just outside the door,
Longing for your hand to lead them into rest for evermore.
Yours may be the joy and honour His redeemèd ones to bring,
Jewels for the coronation of your coming Lord and King.
Will you cast away the gladness thus your Master's joy to share,
All because a word for Jesus seems too much for you to dare?

What shall be our word for Jesus? Master, give it day by day;
Ever as the need arises, teach Thy children what to say.
Give us holy love and patience; grant us deep humility,
That of self we may be emptied, and our hearts be full of Thee;

Give us zeal and faith and fervour, make us winning, make us wise,
Single-hearted, strong and fearless,—Thou hast called us, we will rise!
Let the might of Thy good Spirit go with every loving word;
And by hearts prepared and opened be our message always heard!

Yes, we have a word for Jesus! Living echoes we will be
Of Thine own sweet words of blessing, of Thy gracious ‘Come to Me.’
Jesus, Master! yes, we love Thee, and to prove our love, would lay
Fruit of lips which Thou wilt open, at Thy blessèd feet to-day.
Many an effort it may cost us, many a heart-beat, many a fear,
But Thou knowest, and wilt strengthen, and Thy help is always near.
Give us grace to follow fully, vanquishing our faithless shame,
Feebly it may be, but truly, witnessing for Thy dear Name.

Yes, we have a word for Jesus! we will bravely speak for Thee,
And Thy bold and faithful soldiers, Saviour, we would henceforth be:
In Thy name set up our banners, while Thine own shall wave above,
With Thy crimson Name of Mercy, and Thy golden Name of Love.

Help us lovingly to labour, looking for Thy present smile,
Looking for Thy promised blessing, through the brightening ‘little while.’
Words for Thee in weakness spoken, Thou wilt here accept and own,
And confess them in Thy glory, when we see Thee on Thy throne.

A Worker's Prayer.

Lord, speak to me, that I may speak
In living echoes of Thy tone;
As Thou hast sought, so let me seek
Thy erring children, lost and lone.

O lead me, Lord, that I may lead
The wandering and the wavering feet;
O feed me, Lord, that I may feed
Thy hungering ones with manna sweet.

O strengthen me, that while I stand
Firm on the Rock and strong in Thee,
I may stretch out a loving hand
To wrestlers with the troubled sea.

O teach me, Lord, that I may teach
The precious things Thou dost impart;
And wing my words, that they may reach
The hidden depths of many a heart.

O give Thine own sweet rest to me,
That I may speak with soothing power
A word in season, as from Thee,
To weary ones in needful hour.

O fill me with Thy fulness, Lord,
Until my very heart o'erflow
In kindling thought and glowing word,
Thy love to tell, Thy praise to show.

O use me, Lord, use even me,
Just as Thou wilt, and when, and where;
Until Thy blessèd Face I see,
Thy rest, Thy joy, Thy glory share.

Our Commission.

‘And the Spirit and the Bride say, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come.’— Rev. xxii. 17.

Ye who hear the blessèd call
Of the Spirit and the Bride,
Hear the Master's word to all,
Your commission and your guide—
‘And let him that heareth say,
Come,’ to all yet far away.

‘Come!’ alike to age and youth;
Tell them of our Friend above,
Of His beauty and His truth,
Preciousness and grace and love;
Tell them what you know is true,
Tell them what He is to you.

‘Come!’ to those who never heard
Why the Saviour's blood was shed;
Bear to them the message-word
That can quicken from the dead;
Tell them Jesus ‘died for all,’
Tell them of His loving call.

‘Come!’ to those who do not care
For the Saviour's precious death,
Having not a thought to spare
For the gracious words He saith:
Ere the shadows gather deep,
Rouse them from their fatal sleep.

‘Come!’ to those who, while they hear,
Linger, hardly knowing why;
Tell them that the Lord is near,
Tell them Jesus passes by.
Call them now; oh, do not wait,
Lest to-morrow be too late!

‘Come!’ to those who wander far,
Seeking, never finding, rest;
Point them to the Morning Star;
Show them how they may be blest
With the love that cannot cease,
Joyful hope and perfect peace.

‘Come!’ to those who draw in vain
From the broken cisterns here,
Drinking but to thirst again;
Tell them of the fountain near.
Living water, flowing still,
Free for ‘whosoever will.’

‘Come!’ to those who faint and groan
Under some unuttered grief,
Hearts that suffer all alone;
Try to bring them true relief.
Tell them ‘Jesus wept,’ and He
Still is full of sympathy.

‘Come!’ to those who feel their sin,
Fearing to be lost at last,
Mourning for the plague within,
Mourning for transgressions past;
Tell them Jesus calls them in,
Heavy laden with their sin.

Such as these are all around,
Meeting, passing, every day;
Ye who know the joyful sound,
Have ye not a word to say?
Ye who hear that blessed ‘Come,’
Sweet and clear, can ye be dumb?

Brothers, sisters, do not wait,
Speak for Him who speaks to you!
Wherefore should you hesitate?
This is no great thing to do.
Jesus only bids you say,
‘Come!’ and will you not obey?

Lord! to Thy command we bow,
Touch our lips with altar fire;
Let Thy Spirit kindle now
Faith and zeal, and strong desire;
So that henceforth we may be
Fellow-workers, Lord, with Thee.

Singing for Jesus.

‘With my song will I praise Him.’— Ps. xxviii. 7.

Singing for Jesus, our Saviour and King,
Singing for Jesus, the Lord whom we love;
All adoration we joyously bring,
Longing to praise as we praise Him above.

Singing for Jesus, our Master and Friend,
Telling His love and His marvellous grace,
Love from eternity, love without end,
Love for the loveless, the sinful and base.

Singing for Jesus, and trying to win
Many to love Him, and join in the song;
Calling the weary and wandering in,
Rolling the chorus of gladness along.

Singing for Jesus, our Life and our Light;
Singing for Him as we press to the mark;
Singing for Him when the morning is bright,
Singing, still singing, for Him in the dark.

Singing for Jesus, our Shepherd and Guide,
Singing for gladness of heart that He gives;
Singing for wonder and praise that He died,
Singing for blessing and joy that He lives.

Singing for Jesus, oh, singing with joy!
Thus will we praise Him and tell out His love,
Till He shall call us to brighter employ,
Singing for Jesus for ever above.

A Silence and a Song.

I am alone, dear Master—
Alone in heart with Thee!
Though merry faces round me
And loving looks I see.

There's a hush among the blithe ones,
While a pleasant voice is heard,
A truce to all the fournament
Of flashing wit and word.

And in that truce of silence,
I lay aside my lance,
And through the light and music send
One happy upward glance.

I know not what the song may be,
The words I cannot hear;
'Tis but a gentle melody,
All simple, soft, and clear.

But the sweetness and the quiet
Have set my spirit free,
And I turn in loving gladness,
Dear Master, now to Thee.

I know I love Thee better
Than any earthly joy,
For Thou hast given me the peace
Which nothing can destroy.

I know that Thou art nearer still
Than all this merry throng,
And sweeter is the thought of Thee
Than any lovely song.

Thou hast put gladness in my heart,
Then well may I be glad!
Without the secret of Thy love,
I could not but be sad.

I bless Thee for these pleasant hours
With sunny-hearted friends,
But more for this sweet moment's calm
Thy loving-kindness sends.

O Master, gracious Master,
What will Thy presence be,
If such a thrill of joy can crown
One upward look to Thee?

'Tis ending now, that gentle song,
And they will call for me;
They know the music I love best,—
My song shall be for Thee!

For Thee, who hast so lovèd us,
And whom, not having seen,
We love; on whom in all our joy,
As in our grief, we lean.

Be near me still, and tune my notes,
And make them sweet and strong,
To waft Thy words to many a heart
Upon the wings of song.

I know that all will listen,
For my very heart shall sing,
And it shall be Thy praise alone,
My glorious Lord and King.

The Coming of the Healer.

‘They came into the land of Gennesaret. And when the men of that place had knowledge of Him, they sent out into all that country round about, and brought unto Him all that were diseased; and besought Him that they might only touch the hem of His garment: and as many as touched were made perfectly whole.’— Matt. xiv. 34-36.

From the watch of lonely mountain prayer, in gathering storm and blast—
From the path no mortal foot could tread, o'er waters wild and vast,
He came, the glorious Son of God, with healing, love, and light,
To the land of far Gennesaret, that lay in shadowy night.

Oh blessed morning, sunrise true, upon that gloomy shore!
Where they who walked in darkness long, the Light of Life adore.
Oh blessed coming to the land of Death's usurping sway;
For where those shining footsteps fall, the shadows flee away!

But when the Light had touched the hills by slumbering Galilee,
The golden wave must roll afar towards the western sea:
And when the men had knowledge of the Holy One of God,
Then they sent out through all the land, and spread His fame abroad.

And then they brought the suffering ones, the lonely, or the dear,
And laid them at the Healer's feet, from far away, or near:
Then bent before the Wondrous One, and earnestly besought
That they might only touch the hem around His garment wrought.

He heard the prayer, and gave the will and strength to touch the hem;
And gave the faith, and virtue flowed from Him, and healèd them:
For every one whose feeblest touch thus met the Saviour's power,
Rose up in perfect health and strength in that accepted hour.

O Tender One, O Mighty One, who never sent away
The sinner or the sufferer, Thou art The Same to-day!
The Same in Love, the Same in Power, and Thou art waiting still,
To heal the multitudes that come, yea, ‘whosoever will!’

We know Thee, blessed Saviour, who hast ‘filled us with good things;’
Thou hast arisen on our land, with healing in Thy wings;
Thou hast arisen on our hearts, with light and life Divine;
Now bid us be Thy messengers, bid us ‘arise and shine!’

Oh, let Thy Spirit fire our zeal, that we may now ‘send out,’
And tell that Thou art come ‘in all the country round about,’—
That Thou art waiting now to heal, that Thou art strong to save,
That Thou hast spoilt the Spoiler, Death, and triumphed o'er the grave.

Oh, make us fervent in the quest, that we may bring them in,
The weary and the wounded, and the sufferers from sin;
The stricken and the dying, let us seek them out for Thee,
And lay them at Thy glorious feet, that healèd they may be.

Oh, pour upon our waiting hearts the Spirit of Thy grace,
That we may plead with Thee to show the brightness of Thy face,
Beseeching Thee to grant the will and strength and faith to such
As lie in helpless misery, Thy garment's hem to touch.

And then, Lord Jesus, make them whole, that they may rise and bring
New praise and glory unto Thee, our Healer and our King;

Yea, let Thy saving health be known through all the earth abroad,
So shall the people praise Thy Name, our Saviour and our God.

Another for Christ.

Another called, another brought, dear Master, to Thy feet!
Oh, where are words to tell the joy so wonderful and sweet!
Oh, where are words to give Thee thanks that Thou indeed hast heard,
That Thou hast proved and sealed anew Thy faithful promise-word!

We prayed so long, with fervent hope and patient faith, that she
With all her early wealth of love might give herself to Thee;
Well knowing that our prayer must be the echo of Thy will,
Itself the earnest and the pledge that Thou wilt all fulfil.

And now the prayer is turned to praise, and with the angel-throng,
Who even now are pouring forth a new and joyful song,
Our hearts ascend, our whispers blend, in deepest thrill of praise,
The happiest Alleluia-hymn that human heart can raise.

Oh, joy to know that Thou hast found Thy fair and weary dove,
Rejoicing o'er the wanderer now, and resting in Thy love,
That Thou art glad, that Thou hast seen the travail of Thy soul,
Thy blessèd Name emblazoned on a new and living scroll!

O Master, blessèd Master, it is hard indeed to know
That thousands round our daily path misunderstand Thee so!
Despisèd and rejected yet, no beauty they can see,
O King of glory and of grace, belovèd Lord, in Thee!

Not even as a lovely song of pleasant voice appears
The story of Thy wondrous love in dull and drowsy ears;
'Tis nothing to the passers-by, who coldly turn aside,
That Thou hast poured Thy precious blood, that Thou wast crucified.

O Saviour, precious Saviour, come in all Thy power and grace,
And take away the veil that hides the glory of Thy face!
Oh, manifest the marvels of Thy tenderness and love,
And let Thy Name be blessed and praised all other names above.

Oh, vindicate Thyself, and show how perfect are Thy ways,
Untraceable, because too bright for weak and mortal gaze;
Shine forth, O Sun, and bid the scales of darkening evil fall,
Thou Altogether Lovely One, Thou glorious All-in-all!

Yet conquering Thy word goes forth on all-triumphant way!
‘Ye shall be gathered one by one,’ 'tis true afresh to-day!
And so we hush the yearning cry, ‘How long, O Lord, how long?’
A sweet new token Thou hast given to change it into song.

So once again we praise Thee, with Thy holy ones above,
Because another heart has seen Thy great and mighty love;
Another heart will own Thee Lord, and worship Thee as King,
And grateful love and glowing praise and willing service bring.

Another voice to ‘tell it out’ what great things Thou hast done,
Another life to live for Thee, another witness won,
Another faithful soldier on our Captain's side enrolled,
Another heart to read aright Thy heart of love untold!

‘How Wonderful!’

He answered all my prayer abundantly,
And crowned the work that to His feet I brought,
With blessing more than I had asked or thought—
A blessing undisguised, and fair, and free.
I stood amazed, and whispered, ‘Can it be
That He hath granted all the boon I sought?
How wonderful that He for me hath wrought!
How wonderful that He hath answered me!’

O faithless heart! He said that He would hear
And answer Thy poor prayer, and He hath heard
And proved His promise. Wherefore didst thou fear?
Why marvel that Thy Lord hath kept His word?
More wonderful if He should fail to bless
Expectant faith and prayer with good success!

Valiant for the Truth.

‘Ye should earnestly contend for the faith which was once delivered unto the saints.’— Jude 3.

Unfurl the Christian Standard! lift it manfully on high,
And rally where its shining folds wave out against the sky!
Away with weak half-heartedness, with faithlessness and fear!
Unfurl the Christian Standard, and follow with a cheer!

In God's own name we set it up, this banner brave and bright,
Uplifted for the cause of Christ, the cause of Truth and Right;
The cause that none can overthrow, the cause that must prevail,
Because the promise of the Lord can never, never fail!

Now, who is on the Lord's side, who? come, throng His battle-field;
Be strong, and show that ye are men! come forth with sword and shield!

What peace, while traitorous Evil stalks in false array of light?
What peace, while enemies of Christ are gathering for the fight?

Unfurl the Christian Standard, with firm and fearless hands!
For no pale flag of compromise with Error's legion bands,
And no faint-hearted flag of truce with Mischief and with Wrong,
Should lead the soldiers of the Cross, the faithful and the strong.

Unfurl the Christian Standard, and follow through the strife
The noble army who have won the martyr's crown of life;
Our ancestors could die for Truth, could brave the deadly glow,
And shall we let the standard fall, and yield it to the foe?

But if ye dare not hold it fast, yours only is the loss,
For it shall be victorious, this Standard of the Cross!
It shall not suffer, though ye rest beneath your sheltering trees,
And cast away the victor's crown for love of timid ease.

The Lord of Hosts, in whom alone our weakness shall be strong,
Shall lead us on to conquest with a mighty battle song;
And soon the warfare shall be past, the glorious triumph won,
The kingdoms of this world shall be the kingdoms of His Son!

A Plea for the Little Ones.

It was Easter Monday morning,
A dull and showery day;
We were sorry for the children
Who could not run and play.

I heard the sound of singing
As I passed along the street—
An unseen tiny chorus
Of tiny voices sweet.

Beneath a sheltering doorway,
Safe from the April weather,
Eight happy little singers
Sat lovingly together,

Five crowding on the doorstep
With arms entwined, and three
On broken stool or baby chair,
Close clustering knee to knee.

They sang about the ‘happy land,’
So very ‘far away,’
And happier faces never shone
In any game of play.

And then they sang it all again,
And gently rocked each other;
Then said the little leader,
‘Now let us sing another!’

‘Now I will say a hymn to you!’
(Oh, the sixteen eyes were bright!)
So I said them ‘Little Jessie,’
As they listened with delight.

Jessie's Friend.

‘Little Jessie, darling pet,
Do you want a Friend?
One who never will forget,
Loving to the end?
One whom you can tell, when sad,
Everything that grieves,
One who loves to make you glad,
One who never leaves?

‘Such a loving Friend is ours,
Near us all the day,
Helping us in lesson-hours,
Smiling on our play;
Keeping us from doing wrong,
Guarding everywhere;
Listening to each happy song,
And each little prayer.

‘Jessie, if you only knew
What He is to me,
Surely you would love Him too,
You would “come and see.”

Come, and you will find it true,
Happy you will be!
Jesus says, and says to you,
“Come, oh come, to Me.”’

‘Now tell me who, if you can guess,
Was little Jessie's Friend?
Who is the Friend that loves so much,
And loveth to the end?’

I would that you had seen the smile
On every sunny face;
It made a palace of delight
Out of that dismal place,

As, reverently yet joyously,
They answered without fear,
‘It's Jesus!’ That belovèd Name
Had never seemed more dear.

And then we talked awhile of Him—
They knew the story well;
His holy life, His precious death,
Those rosy lips could tell.

All beautiful, and wonderful,
And sweet and true it seemed,
Such hold no fairy tale had gained
That ever fancy dreamed.

So, to be good and kind all day
These little children tried,
Because they knew He was so good,
Because He bled and died.

Blest knowledge! Oh, what human lore
Can be compared with such!
‘Who taught you this, dear little ones?
Where did you learn so much?’

Again the bright eyes cheerily
Looked up from step and stool;
They answered (mark the answer well!),
‘We learnt it all at school!’

At school, at school! And shall we take
The Book of books away!
Withhold it from the little ones?
Leave them at will to stray—

Upon dark mountains, helplessly,
Without the guiding light
That God entrusts to us, until
They perish in the night?

What was the world before that Book
Went forth in glorious night?
Availed the lore of Greece and Rome
To chase its Stygian night?

We send the messengers of life
To many a distant strand,

And shall we tie the tongues that teach
The poor of our own land?

Shall husks and chaff be freely given,
And not the Bread of Life?
And shall the Word of Peace become
A centre of mad strife?

Shall those who name the Name of Christ
His own great gift withhold?
Our Lamp, our Chart, our Sword, our Song,
Our Pearl, our most fine Gold!

Why would ye have ‘no Bible taught’?
Is it for fear? or shame?
Out, out upon such coward hearts,
False to their Master's name!

If God be God, if truth be truth,
If Christian men be men,
Let them arise and fight the fight,
Though it were one to ten!

With battle-cry of valiant faith,
Let Britain's sons arise,—
‘Our children shall be taught the Word
That only maketh wise!’

So, dauntlessly, will we unfurl
Our banner bright and broad,
The cause of His dear Word of Life,
Our cause, the Cause of God.

Tell it Out.

‘Tell it out among the heathen that the Lord is King.’— Ps. xcvi. 10.

[_]

(Prayer-Book Version.)

Tell it out among the heathen that the Lord is King!
Tell it out, tell it out!
Tell it out among the nations, bid them shout and sing!
Tell it out, tell it out!

Tell it out with adoration, that He shall increase;
That the mighty King of Glory is the King of Peace.
Tell it out with jubilation, though the waves may roar,
That He sitteth on the water-floods, our King for evermore!

Tell it out, etc.

Tell it out among the nations that the Saviour reigns!
Tell it out, tell it out!
Tell it out among the heathen, bid them burst their chains!
Tell it out, tell it out!

Tell it out among the weeping ones that Jesus lives;
Tell it out among the weary ones what rest He gives;
Tell it out among the sinners that He came to save;
Tell it out among the dying that He triumphed o'er the grave.

Tell it out, etc.

Tell it out among the heathen Jesus reigns above!
Tell it out, tell it out!
Tell it out among the nations that His name is Love!
Tell it out, tell it out!

Tell it out among the highways, and the lanes at home;
Let it ring across the mountains and the ocean foam;
Like the sound of many waters let our glad shout be,
Till it echo and re-echo from the islands of the sea!

Tell it out, etc.

Sisters.

Oh! for a fiery scroll, and a trumpet of thunder might,
To startle the silken dreams of English women at ease,
Circled with peace and joy, and dwelling where truth and light
Are shining fair as the stars, and free as the western breeze!

Oh! for a clarion voice to reach and stir their nest,
With the story of sisters' woes gathering day by day
Over the Indian homes (sepulchres rather than rest),
Till they rouse in the strength of the Lord, and roll the stone away.

Sisters! Scorn not the name, for ye cannot alter the fact!
Deem ye the darker tint of the glowing South shall be
Valid excuse above for the Priest's and Levite's act,
If ye pass on the other side, and say that ye did not see?

Sisters! Yea, and they lie, not by the side of the road,
But hidden in loathsome caves, in crushed and quivering throngs,

Down-trodden, degraded, and dark, beneath the invisible load
Of centuries, echoing groans, black with inherited wrongs.

Made like our own strange selves, with memory, mind, and will;
Made with a heart to love, and a soul to live for ever!
Sisters! Is there no chord vibrating in musical thrill,
At the fall of that gentle word, to issue in bright endeavour?

Sisters! Ye who have known the Elder Brother's love,—
Ye who have sat at His feet, and leant on His gracious breast,
Whose hearts are glad with the hope of His own blest home above,
Will ye not seek them out, and lead them to Him for rest?

Is it too great a thing? Will not one rise and go,
Laying her joys aside, as the Master laid them down?
Seeking His lone and lost in the veilèd abodes of woe,
Winning His Indian gems to shine in His glorious crown!

An Indian Flag.

The golden gates were opening
For another welcome guest;
For a ransomed heir of glory
Was entering into rest:

The first in far Umritsur
Who heard the joyful sound,
The first who came to Jesus
Within its gloomy bound.

The wonderers and the watchers
Around his dying bed,
Saw Christ's own fearless witness
Safe through the valley led.

And they whose faithful sowing
Had not been all in vain,
Knew that the angels waited
Their sheaf of ripened grain.

He spoke: ‘Throughout the city
How many a flag is raised
Where loveless deities are owned,
And powerless gods are praised!

‘I give my house to Jesus,
That it may always be
A flag for Christ, the Son of God,
Who gave Himself for me.’

And now in far Umritsur
That flag is waving bright,
Amid the heathen darkness,
A clear and shining light.

A house where all may gather
The words of peace to hear,

And seek the only Saviour
Without restraint or fear;

Where patient toil of teaching,
And kindly deeds abound;
Where holy festivals are kept,
And holy songs resound.

First convert of Umritsur,
Well hast thou led the way;
Now, who will rise and follow?
Who dares to answer, ‘Nay’?

O children of salvation!
O dwellers in the light!
Have ye no ‘flag for Jesus,’
Far-waving, fair, and bright?

Will ye not band together,
And, working hand in hand,
Set up a ‘flag for Jesus,’
In that wide heathen land?

In many an Indian city,
Oh, let a standard wave,
Our gift of love and honour,
To Him who came to save;

To Him beneath whose banner
Of wondrous love we rest;
Our Friend, the Friend of sinners,
The Greatest and the Best.

The Lull of Eternity.

Many a voice has echoed the cry for ‘a lull in life,’
Fainting under the noontide, fainting under the strife.
Is it the wisest longing? is it the truest gain?
Is not the Master withholding possible loss and pain?

Perhaps if He sent the lull, we might fail of our heart's desire!
Swift and sharp the concussion striking out living fire,
Mighty and long the friction resulting in living glow,
Heat that is force of the spirit, energy fruitful in flow.

What if the blast should falter, what if the fire be stilled,
What if the molten metal cool ere the mould be filled?
What if the hands hang down when a work is almost done?
What if the sword be dropped when a battle is almost won?

Past many an unseen Maelstrom the strong wind drives the skiff,
When a lull might drift it onward to fatal swirl or cliff.
Faithful the guide that spurreth, sternly forbidding repose,
When treacherous slumber lureth to pause amid Alpine snows.

The lull of Time may be darkness, falling in lonely night,
But the lull of Eternity neareth, rising in full calm light;

The earthly lull may be silence, desolate, deep and cold,
But the heavenly lull shall be music sweeter a thousand-fold.

Here, it is ‘calling apart,’ and the place may be desert indeed,
Leaving and losing the blessings linked with our busy need;
There!—why should I say it? hath not the heart leapt up,
Swift and glad, to the contrast, filling the full, full cup?

Still shall the key-word, ringing, echo the same sweet ‘Come!’
‘Come’ with the blessèd myriads safe in the Father's home;
‘Come’—for the work is over; ‘come’—for the feast is spread;
‘Come’—for the crown of glory waits for the weary head.

When the rest of faith is ended, and the rest in hope is past,
The rest of love remaineth, Sabbath of life at last.
No more fleeting hours, hurrying down the day,
But golden stillness of glory, never to pass away.

Time with its pressure of moments, mocking us as they fell
With relentless beat of a footstep, hour by hour the knell
Of a hope or an aspiration, then shall have passed away,
Leaving a grand calm leisure, leisure of endless day.

Leisure that cannot be dimmed by the touch of time or place,
Finding its counterpart measure only in infinite space;

Full, and yet ever filling, leisure without alloy,
Eternity's seal on the limitless charter of heavenly joy.

Leisure to fathom the fathomless, leisure to seek and to know
Marvels and secrets and glories eternity only can show;
Leisure of holiest gladness, leisure of holiest love,
Leisure to drink from the Fountain of infinite peace above.

Art thou patiently toiling, waiting the Master's will,
For a rest that never seems nearer, a hush that is far off still?
Does it seem that the noisy city never will let thee hear
The sound of His gentle footsteps drawing, it may be, near?

Does it seem that the blinding dazzle of noonday glare and heat
Is a fiery veil between thy heart and visions high and sweet?
What though ‘a lull in life’ may never be made for thee?
Soon shall a ‘better thing’ be thine, the Lull of Eternity!

Sequel to ‘A Lull in Life.’ See The Ministry of Song, p. 199 (Pocket Edition).

The Sowers.

[In the morning sow thy seed, nor stay thy hand at evening hour]

In the morning sow thy seed, nor stay thy hand at evening hour,
Never asking which shall prosper—both may yield thee fruit and flower:

Thou shalt reap of that thou sowest; though thy grain be small and bare,
God shall clothe it as He pleases, for the harvest full and fair;
Though it sink in turbid waters, hidden from thy yearning sight,
It shall spring in strength and beauty, ripening in celestial light;
Ever springing, ever ripening;—not alone in earthly soil,
Not alone among the shadows, where the weary workers toil;
Gracious first-fruits there may meet thee of the reaping-time begun;
But upon the Hill of Zion, 'neath the Uncreated Sun,
First the fulness of the blessing shall the faithful labourer see,
Gathering fruit to life eternal, harvest of Eternity.

Let us watch awhile the sowers, let us mark their tiny grain,
Scattered oft in doubt and trembling, sown in weakness or in pain;
Then let Faith, with radiant finger, lift the veil from unseen things,
Where the golden sheaves are bending and the harvest anthem rings.

[‘Such as I have I sow, it is not much,’]

I.

‘Such as I have I sow, it is not much,’
Said one who loved the Master of the field;
‘Only a quiet word, a gentle touch
Upon the hidden harp-strings, which may yield

No quick response; I tremble, yet I speak
For Him who knows the heart, so loving, yet so weak,’

And so the words were spoken, soft and low,
Or traced with timid pen; yet oft they fell
On soil prepared, which she would never know
Until the tender blade sprang up, to tell
That not in vain her labour had been spent;
Then with new faith and hope more bravely on she went.

II.

‘I had much seed to sow,’ said one; ‘I planned
To fill broad furrows, and to watch it spring
And water it with care. But now the hand
Of Him to whom I sought great sheaves to bring,
Is laid upon His labourer, and I wait,
Weak, helpless, useless, at His palace gate.

‘Now I have nothing, only day by day
Grace to sustain me till the day is done;
And some sweet passing glimpses by the way
Of Him, the Altogether Lovely One;
And some strange things to learn, unlearnt before,
That make the suffering light, if it but teach me more.’

Yet, from the hush of that secluded room,
Forth floated wingèd seeds of thought and prayer;
These, reaching many a desert place to bloom,
And pleasant fruit an hundred-fold to bear;
Those, wafted heavenward with song and sigh,
To fall again with showers of blessing from on high.

III.

‘What can I sow?’ thought one, to whom God gave
Sweet notes and skilful fingers. ‘Can my song
Be cast upon the waters, as they lave
My feet with grateful echo, soft and long,
Or break in sunny spray of fair applaud?
Shall this be found one day as fruit to Thee, my God?’

He sang, and all were hushed. Oh, sweeter fall
The notes that pour from fervent fount of love,
Than studied flow of sweetest madrigal!
He sang of One who listened from above,
He cast the song at His belovèd feet;—
Some said, ‘How strange!’ And others felt, ‘How sweet!’

IV.

Another stood, with basket stored indeed,
And powerful hand both full and faithful found,
And cast God's own imperishable seed
Upon the darkly heaving waste around:
Yet oft in weariness, and oft in woe,
Did that good sower store, and then go forth to sow.

The tide of human hearts still ebbed and flowed,
Less like the fruitful flood than barren sea;
He saw not where it fell, and yet he sowed:
‘Not void shall it return,’ said God, ‘to Me!’
The precious seed, so swiftly borne away,
A singing reaper's hand shall fill with sheaves one day.

V.

Another watched the sowers longingly,
‘I cannot sow such seed as they,’ he said;
‘No shining grain of thought is given to me,
No fiery words of power bravely sped:
Will others give me of their bounteous store?
My hand may scatter that, if I can do no more.’

So by the wayside he went forth to sow
The silent seeds, each wrapped in fruitful prayer,
With glad humility; content to know
The volume lent, the leaflet culled with care,
The message placed in stranger hands, were all
Beneath His guiding eye who notes the sparrow's fall.

VI.

An opening blossom, bright with early dew,
Whose rosy lips had touched the Living Spring
Before the thirst of earth was felt; who knew
The children's Saviour, and the children's King,
Said, ‘What can I sow, mother?’ ‘Darling boy,
Show all how glad He makes you; scatter love and joy!

That sparkling seed he took in his small hand,
And dropped it tenderly beside the flow
Of sorrows that he could not understand,
And cast it lovingly upon the snow
That shrouded aged hearts, and joyously
Upon the dancing waves of playmates' thoughtless glee.

VII.

‘What seed have I to sow?’ said one. ‘I lie
In stilled and darkened chamber, lone and low;
The silent days and silent nights pass by
In monotone of dimness. Could I throw
Into the nearest furrow one small seed,
It would be life again, a blessèd life indeed!’

And so she lay through lingering month and year,
No word for Him to speak, no work to do;
Only to suffer and be still, and hear
That yet the Golden Gate was not in view;
While hands of love and skill, this charge to keep,
Must leave the whitening plain, where others now would reap.

[Such the sowing; what the reaping? Many a full and precious ear]

Such the sowing; what the reaping? Many a full and precious ear
Waved and ripened, fair and early, for the patient sowers' cheer.
Not without some gracious witness of God's faithfulness and love
Toiled they, waiting for the coming of the harvest-home above;
Word, and prayer, and song, and leaflet, found, though after many days,
Quickening energy and courage, brightening hope and wakening praise.

Yet how many a seed seemed trodden under foot, and left to die,
Lost, forgotten by the sower, never traced by human eye;
Many a worker meekly saying, ‘Lord, how thankful will I be,
If but one among a thousand may bring forth good fruit to Thee!’

[One by one, no longer]

One by one, no longer
Gently bid to wait;
One by one, they entered
Through the Golden Gate.

One by one they fell adoring
At the Master's feet,
Heard His welcome, deep and thrilling,
‘Enter thou!’ each full heart filling,
All its need for ever stilling—
All its restless beat.

Then the gift, the free, the glorious,
Life with Him, eternal life,—
Erst bestowed amid the weeping,
And the weary vigil-keeping,
And the bitter strife,—

Now in mighty consummation,
First in all its fulness known,
Dower of glory all transcendent,
Everlasting and resplendent,
Is their own!

100

All their own, through Him who loved them,
And redeemed them unto God!
New and living revelation
Of the marvels of salvation,
Wakes new depths of adoration,
New and burning laud.

Now they see their gracious Master,
See Him face to face!
Now they know the great transition
From the veiled to veil-less vision,
In that bright and blessèd place.

What a change has passed upon them!
Made like Him, the Perfect One,—
Made like Him whose joy they enter,
Him, the only Crown and Centre
Of the endless bliss begun.

[But Eternity is long]

But Eternity is long,
And its joys are manifold!
Though the service of its song
Never falters or grows cold,
Though the billows of its praise
Never die upon the shore,
Though the blessèd harpers raise
Alleluias evermore,
Though the eye grows never dim
Gazing on that mighty Sun,
Ever finding all in Him,
Every joy complete in one;—

101

Yet The Infinite is He,
In His Wisdom and His Might;
And it needs eternity
To reveal His Love and Light
To the finite and created!
Archangelic mind and heart
Never with His bliss was sated,
Never knew the thousandth part
Of the all-mysterious rays
Flowing from Essential Light,
Hiding in approachless blaze
God Himself, the Infinite.

Infinite the ocean-joy
Opening to His children's view;
Infinite their varied treasure,
Meted not by mortal measure—
Holy knowledge, holy pleasure,
Through Eternity's great leisure,
Like its praises, ever new.

So the blessèd sowers' gladness
In the free and royal grace
Should be crowned with added glory,
Woven with their earthly story,
Linked with time and place.

Glad surprise! for every service
Overflowing their reward!
No more sowing, no more weeping,
Only grand and glorious reaping,
All the blessing of their Lord.

102

[She who timidly had scattered]

I.

She who timidly had scattered
Trembling line or whispered word,
Till the holy work grew dearer,
And the sacred courage clearer,
Now her Master's own voice heard.

Calling shining throngs around her,
All her own fair harvest found;
Then, her humble name confessing,
With His radiant smile of blessing,
All her dower of gladness crowned.

II.

‘Welcome thou, whose heavenly message
Came with quickening power to me!
O most welcome to the portals
Of this home of bright immortals,
I have waited long for thee!’

‘Who art thou? I never saw thee
In my pilgrimage below,’
Said he, marvelling. ‘I will show thee,’
Answered he, ‘the love I owe thee,
Full and fervent, for I know thee
By the starlight on thy brow.

‘Words that issued from thy chamber
Turned my darkness into light;

103

Guided footsteps, weak and weary,
Through the desert wild and dreary,
Through the valley of the night.

‘Come! for many another waits thee!
All unfolded thou shalt see,
Through the ecstatic revelation
Of their endless exultation,
What our God hath wrought by thee.’

III.

Hark! a voice all joy-inspiring
Peals adown the golden floor,
Leading on a white-robed chorus,
Sweet as flute, and yet sonorous
As the many waters' roar.

He who sang for Jesus heard it!
‘'Tis the echo of thy song!’
Said the leader. ‘As we listened,
Cold hearts glowed and dim eyes glistened,
And we learned to love and long—

‘Till the longing and the loving
Soared to Him of whom you sang;
Till our Alleluia, swelling,
Through the glory all-excelling,
Up the jasper arches rang.’

IV.

'Mid the angel-constellations,
Like a star of purest flame,

104

Shining with exceeding brightness,
Robed in snowy-glistering whiteness,
Now a singing reaper came;

Came with fulness of rejoicing
That belovèd smile to meet:
‘Master, lo, I come with singing,
Myriad sheaves of glory bringing
To Thy dear and blessèd feet.’

Followed o'er the golden crystal
Glittering hosts with crown and palm;
Joining him whose voice had taught them,
To the praise of Him who bought them,
In a new and rapturous psalm.

V.

He who humbly watched the sowers,
Watched the reapers of the Lord;
Sharing all their jubilation,
Hailing every coronation,
Gladdened by their great reward.

‘Seed of others long I scattered,
Now their harvest joy is mine,
Kindling holy contemplation
Into glowing adoration,
Into ecstasy divine.’

So he chanted, But the Master
Beckoned through the shining throng;

105

While the praises of the choir
Rose into that silence, higher
Than the highest flight of song.

Great and gracious words were spoken
Of his faithful service done,
By the Voice that thrills all heaven;
And mysterious rule was given
To that meek and marvelling one.

VI.

Found the little child rich harvest
From his tiny seed of love;
Little footsteps followed surely
In the footprints marked so purely,
Till they met again above.

Aged ones and feeble mourners
Felt the solace of his smile;
Hastened on with footsteps lighter,
Battled on with courage brighter,
Through the lessening ‘little while,’

Till they too had joined the mansions
Where the weary are at rest.
Could that little one forget them?
Oh, how joyously he met them
In this dear home safe and blest!

And the Saviour, who had called him,
Smiled upon His little one;

106

On his brow, so fair and tender,
Set a crown of heavenly splendour,
With the gracious word, ‘Well done!’

VII.

Yet again a wondrous anthem
Rang across the crystal sea;
Harps and voices all harmonious,
Nearer, nearer, sweet, symphonious,
Meet for heaven's own jubilee.

One by one the singers gathered,
Ever swelling that great song,
Till a mighty chorus thundered,
Till the listening seraphs wondered,
As its triumph pealed along.

Onward came they with rejoicing,
Bearing one upon their wings,
With their waving palms victorious,
To the presence-chamber glorious
Of the very King of kings.

And a whisper, clear and thrilling,
Fell upon her ravished ear—
‘Lo, thy harvest song ascending!
Lo, thy golden sheaves are bending
Full and precious, round thee here!’

‘Nay,’ she said, ‘I have no harvest,
For I had no power to sow;

107

Burdening others, daily dying,
Year by year in weakness lying,
Still and silent, lone and low.’

Then a flash of sudden glory
Lit her long life-mystery;
By that heavenly intuition
All the secret of her mission
Shone, revealed in radiancy.

And she knew the sweet memorials
Of her hidden life had shed
Clories on the sufferer's pillow,
Calmness on the darkling billow,
Peace upon the dying bed.

Thousand, thousand-fold her guerdon,
Thousand, thousand-fold her bliss!
While His cup of suffering sharing,
All His will so meekly bearing,
He was gloriously preparing
This for her, and her for this!

[He that goeth forth and weepeth, seed of grace in sorrow bringing]

He that goeth forth and weepeth, seed of grace in sorrow bringing,
Laden with his sheaves of glory, doubtless shall return with singing.

University of Virginia Library

IV. Our Work.

Have You not a Word for Jesus?

A Worker's Prayer.

Our Commission.

Singing for Jesus.

A Silence and a Song.

The Coming of the Healer.

Another for Christ.

‘How Wonderful!’

Valiant for the Truth.

A Plea for the Little Ones.

Jessie's Friend.

Tell it Out.

Sisters.

An Indian Flag.

The Lull of Eternity.

The Sowers.

[In the morning sow thy seed, nor stay thy hand at evening hour]

[‘Such as I have I sow, it is not much,’]

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

[Such the sowing; what the reaping? Many a full and precious ear]

[One by one, no longer]

[But Eternity is long]

[She who timidly had scattered]

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

[He that goeth forth and weepeth, seed of grace in sorrow bringing]